Page 38 of Chasing the Other Woman

“You planning on holding that box all day?” Petra asks.

I look down. I’m holding a case of bottled water against my chest like I've got nothing better to do than stand here and look pretty.

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. Inside, by the jukebox. And if your pretty blonde shadow knocks into one more table, I’m making her mop.”

I don’t ask which pretty blonde shadow she means. The urge to correct Petra and tell her she's not mine is right there at the tip of my tongue, but even I know better than to correct Petra. Especially now.

Luci has been circling too close since we got here. Every time I turn, she’s nearby with a bottle of water, a question, a hand hovering near my elbow like I might need steadying. Two weeks ago, I might have registered it as eagerness. Maybe even loyalty.

Now, there's something about it that feels manufactured. I tell myself it's the fact that Sam has now told me how replaced she's been feeling.

But even as I tell myself that, I can feel Luci's stare on me.

I carry the water inside.

The Funnel Cloud has become part bar, part triage, part town hall. Somehow, Petra has made the math work. People sit in booths charging phones off power strips. A couple of kids sleep under jackets near the pool table. Someone has taped a handwritten list of checked-in residents to the wall.

Near the front window, Tom Harbor is bent over a tablet, his finger moving across a radar loop.

“You’re looking at velocity?” I ask.

He startles, then looks up at me through his lashes. “Base velocity. Reflectivity is messy after debris gets lofted. Sometimes people only look at the big colorful blob.”

“Most people do.”

"Most people aren't me."

I bite back the first real smile I’ve felt all day. “Can’t argue with that.”

He glances toward the door, where Sam is talking to a lineman. “You were wrong when she said to cut south.”

I freeze my smile in place. Not because I think that I'd hurt Tom's feelings. He's too astute for that. But because it's perhaps my feelings that are hurt.

Luckily Tom doesn't seem to notice or care. He's too involved with the tablet. His finger taps the screen. “The outflow boundary was obvious. She saw it first.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “She usually does.”

“She’s better than the apps.”

"She's better than most people and most things on the planet."

Tom considers that, serious as a judge. “Then why doesn’t she ride in the truck anymore?”

The room keeps moving around us. Someone laughs too loudly near the bar. A chair scrapes. Rainwater drips steadily from someone’s coat onto the floor.

I look at Sam again.

She's watching the people in the bar, no doubt assessing who needs the next steady hand or guidance. She looks tired, but she also looks like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. She's exactly where she needs to be: in the middle of everything. Not a world away from it.

“Because I was scared,” I say.

Tom’s gaze cuts back to me. “Of her?”

“No.” My throat tightens. “For her.”

He thinks that over. “She’s sad when people say your name.”